Стихи

Of his is misaligned with era's fervor.
And wasn't Bonaparte of Brutus kind?'

Equality and classes. Less than eager
Was Pushkin on the subject. 'With the rest
To equalize the paupers? — when at best
Conditions for equality are meager.
Toward the poor it is gentry's obligation —
In dignity to foster education.'
'Of course,' responded Pestel, 'since the throne
Remains the despot's undisputed booty,
The gentry has inalienable duty
To form the base for changes of its own.'
'Alas,' was Pushkin's answer. Bases of
Such piety gave rise to Pugachev.
'The peasantry revolting…'
                        Too divine
A contrast, Anna's voice was ceaseless labor.
The yard of the Moldavian, old neighbor,
Brought scents of sheepskin, cattle-shed, and wine.
The day was filled with azure, of the sort
That buckets grace from wells of deepest posture.
And voice… that voice with heights on verge of rupture
Caught Pushkin thinking: 'Anna! Dear Lord!'

'Without fight, we peacefully evade,'
Came Pestel's protest, 'tyranny, its evil.'
'Ahh, tyranny in Russia — senseless drivel,
The tyrants hardly mastered their trade,'
Said Pushkin.
                'What a truly frisky mind,'
Thought Pestel to himself, 'A wealth of comments,
Yet paucity of reasonable thoughts.'
'A genius can end the serfdom's torments!'
'In politics, a genius destructs,'
Responded Pushkin.
                        Topics overall
Were pleasant in discussion. Of Lycurgus,
Of Solon, of St. Petersburg, of focus
In Russia to expend beyond control.
Of Asia, of the Caucasus, of Dante,
Of insurrection, led by Ipsilanti.

They spoke of love, thus thwarting likely pause.
'Love,'
        Pushkin asked, 'in your envisioned nation
Has merits just for human propagation,
Thus being driven by a set of lasting laws?'
A smile came to Pestel, void of glee.
'Materialist at heart,
                        I live meanwhile
With reason in discord. His light-eyed smile
Led Pushkin to conclude: 'And that's the key!'

They parted. Pestel sauntered through the breadth
Of muddy streets, conspicuous and livid,
As Alexander's absent-minded spirit
Was contemplating his departing steps.
There walked he, Russian Brutus. Storing grief,
The gaze of Russian genius pursued him.

The azure and the chill, and ever fulsome
Trees' greenery formed morning's leitmotif.
He made a written entry of that phrase —
On heart and reason. Dutiful to ponder,
He told himself: 'And thus, another plotter.
What choice we have, but join their ranks.'

A shabby wagon crept across the village.
The hound barked. The branches wrought with leafage
Were shaking through the morning's breezy cold.
In April, lust for life was filled with yearning.
And once again, he heard it — Anna's singing.
And gasped through passion:
                        'Anna! Dear Lord!'[20]

Старый Дон Жуан

Убогая комната в трактире.

Дон Жуан

        Чума! Холера!
        Треск, гитара-мандолина!
        Каталина!